


Play Me

by FleetSparrow



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Character Death, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: The violin is not the only thing Sherlock plays so well.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: Merry Month of Masturbation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728661
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	Play Me

_From the private papers of Dr John Watson:_

I had just laid down to sleep in my room when Holmes took up his violin and began to play. He played quietly, aware that I had just retired, to the point that I had to remain completely silent to hear every note. I had never heard the piece before, nor, do I believe, had anyone else. It was one of his own personal compositions—something he would never admit to creating. By the tone of the music, I could almost picture where he was in the room, moving about as he played. I closed my eyes and let myself be lost in his melody.

As I slipped into half dreams, I became aware of a stirring within me, not just of my soul with the music, but in my body as well. It was a feeling which had become strange to me after the death of my dear Mary. I allowed that primitive mind that lurks in all men to take hold of me, while I listened to the strains of Holmes’ violin.

Suddenly, the tempo of the piece changed. It quickened, with shorter notes, and less languid phrases than before. I kept pace with the music. It grew louder, as though Holmes was moving closer to me, until it sounded as though he was playing directly outside my door. In my half-awake state, I was sure he would fling my door open and be upon me, playing like a man possessed. As the music reached a tremendous climax, so did I. I am sure I cried out Holmes’ name as I jolted from my partial slumber.

The music sounded far away again, coming to an end in another room.

I should have, out of respect for my dear friend, felt some measure of shame or, at the very least, repentance for what had occurred, but I confess that none was forthcoming. I was satisfied in a way I had not been for a very long time.

I slept heavily that night, with dreams of music and of Holmes.


End file.
